


hang a shining star upon the highest bough

by romanovaly



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Bartlet Administration, F/M, Santos Administration, happy holidays yall, it's a five plus one fic, it's a fluff fest, with like a sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28220943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanovaly/pseuds/romanovaly
Summary: Some traditions are more unique than others.AKA, Josh, Donna, and five times they hang an (100% illegal) ornament on the National Christmas Tree.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78





	1. one. santos administration, 2009.

**Author's Note:**

> 2020: the year i commit myself to a christmas fic. 
> 
> anyways please suspend all amounts of disbelief that these two dorks could ever get close enough to sneak an ornament onto the national christmas tree every year without some government agent putting a stop to all their nonsense. 
> 
> it's christmas, enjoy the magic.

_Santos Administration. 2009._

“Remember that time you made me stand in the freezing cold and call the Flenders to get them to vote for President Bartlet in the primaries?”

“You mean that time you stole my coat?”

“You mean that time I spent hours outside in sub-freezing temperatures?”

Josh pauses, coat pulled halfway up his arms, his scarf hanging haphazardly around his neck. Donna’s sitting on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, wool coat left unbuttoned over the obvious swell of her stomach. She’s reading something on the small screen of her phone, attitude almost too casual and Josh’s alarm bells are ringing out a solid _danger ahead_ warning to his tired brain.

“Yeah, I remember the Flenders,” he says, finishing with his coat and patting down his pockets before reaching for his BlackBerry, left abandoned on his desk.

Donna glances up, gaze locking on his, a small frown marring her face. “This is worse.”

“What’s worse?”

“This,” she says, emphatic, waving an arm out, “Standing in the cold with a coat that won’t even close—which is _your_ fault by the way—is way worse than calling the Flenders.”

He walks over to her and reaches down, wrapping an arm around her back to help her stand. “I think you’re exaggerating.”

“It’s twelve degrees out there, Joshua,” she tells him, arms crossed over the bump.

“I thought you were made from hearty Wisconsin stock,” he teases, unwinding the scarf from around his neck to double up hers. “Besides,” he whispers into her ear, “It’s tradition.”

“Well, we should change that,” she says, no real heat to her words.

They walk through the adjoining door to the Oval Office where Miranda and Peter are chasing each other around the room and the First Lady stands on the seal, hands on her hips, face upturned in clear exasperation.

“Uh, hi?” Josh says, Miranda almost tripping in front of them in her haste to stop and give Donna a hug.

“Hi, Uncle Josh,” she chirps, voice full of giggles. “No baby yet?” She looks between the two of them, disappointment clear on her face.

“Couple more weeks, kid,” replies Donna, a hand smoothing down Miranda’s hair.

“I can’t believe you’re going to stand on that stage,” Helen tells her, aghast. “I would’ve smacked Matt upside the head for even suggesting it. It’s freezing out there.”

Josh feels Donna squeeze his fingers, as if to say: _See! The First Lady agrees with me_ , but he watches her shake her head and smile wide, “It’s tradition. Can’t miss it.”

“Better you than me,” the First Lady replies with a snort. “I made Maurice practically sew those instant hand warmers into the liner of this coat it’s so cold out.”

“I’ll just stand really close to the heater on stage,” Donna says, tucking herself further into Josh’s loose embrace. She looks down at Miranda, “Ready to light the tree with your dad?”

There’s a huff and a frown, before the young girl whips her head at her brother, “I _told_ you,” she shouts, before taking off at a run. “I _told_ you we still get to light the tree.”

Helen sighs audibly, giving in to the chaos and pulling on her coat and gloves. “Are you two sure you want to add this sort of chaos to your lives?” she asks, her mouth quirked up with good humor.

Josh bounces slightly on his toes, feels the baby nudge the heel of his palm through the layers of Donna’s clothes. “Absolutely,” he says, “Can’t wait.”

The President bursts through the door from the outer office at that moment, Lou and Sam hot on his heels, all three of them struggling with their jackets and scarves and gloves.

“We’re not late,” Matt says, pressing a distracted kiss to Helen’s cheek and ruffling Peter’s hair.

Ronna trails after them. “You’re almost twenty minutes late,” she argues.

“Blame Lou,” he responds, turning in a harried circle. “She’s the one who added that thing to the schedule yesterday.”

Josh points to the resolute desk, “Otto dropped off your remarks about an hour ago, sir.”

The President mouths a silent _thank you_ at him, snatching the notecards from his desk.

“How was I supposed to know they’d be delayed due to inclement weather,” Lou complains, rubbing the palms of her hands together.

“Well,” says Sam, adjusting his glasses, “Have you checked the month on the calendar lately, Louise?”

Lou growls low in her throat taking a step towards him, clearly about to continue an earlier argument.

“Forget it, now we’re all late,” Matt jovially interjects, sweeping Miranda up in his arms and heading for the side door. “Come on, the masses won’t wait on us forever.”

They’re the last two out of the Oval Office, Josh’s arm still wrapped securely around her waist. Miranda and Peter’s voices mix together ahead of them, loud and childish against the austere backdrop of the White House portico, and off in the distance, he can hear the chatter of the crowd, the swell of orchestral music in celebration.

Donna fiddles with the ends of both scarves, gait much slower than her usual brisk pace through the hallways and Josh ruminates on the changes.

“So, what’d you get this year?” she asks, brow arching in curiosity, interrupting his thoughts.

“Nuh uh,” he says, “Nope. That would ruin the surprise.”

She purses her lips together, “Josh, I could seriously go into labor, like, right this second from the cold. Do not tempt the wrath of a pregnant woman.”

He laughs and draws to a stop, most of the Secret Service agents following the President and the rest of their group out to the stage on the South Lawn. Bobby and Eric, however, pause alongside them, ever present. He turns Donna in his arms so they’re facing each other and dips one hand into the pocket of his coat drawing out a small ceramic ornament.

Donna reaches out a gloved hand to gently touch the edge, tears already gathering at the corners of her eyes.

“Baby’s First Christmas,” she says, softly, tracing the cursive script across the front of the ornament.

“Felt appropriate,” he replies, dipping his head to press a kiss to her hair.

“It’s perfect,” she sniffs, rubbing a hand under her eye.

Josh passes it off to her, lets her hold onto it, nodding to Bobby to start walking again. He nestles a hand at Donna’s back, urging her forward towards the crowd. “Come on, I’ve got the perfect spot picked out on the tree. And, Eric even promised he wouldn’t rat us out to the FBI this year.”


	2. two. bartlet administration, 2000.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> post- _noel_. 
> 
> Donna hangs onto Josh’s arm, a comfortable silence settling over them.
> 
> “It’s okay if you don’t have one,” she says, leaning her head against his shoulder. “It hasn’t really been a normal year.”
> 
> “And break our tradition?” he says, teasing softly.

_Bartlet Administration. 2000._

It’s late on Christmas Eve. Or, maybe, Josh thinks, early on Christmas day. He glances down at Donna, her hair splayed across his lap as she naps beside him on his couch.

The emergency room doctor had given him a couple doses of high-strength painkillers, enough to take the edge off from all the stitches in his hand, but Josh had palmed them, hadn’t wanted the fuzzy, hazy feeling he’d suffered through all summer now that he finally felt awake after weeks of treading water.

Donna twitches, restless, and Josh runs his uninjured hand soothingly down her arm. The clock on his bookshelf blinks back at him with red, angry numbers, reminding him it’s just past 3AM.

He searches his memory, glances upon one from the beginning of the month, Donna chattering brightly across his desk about Christmas plans with her brothers and her nieces and nephews. Leo’s words come back to haunt him, _she’s the one who guessed_ , and he wonders at what point did she cancel her holiday plans because of him, because he couldn’t keep it together.

The heat kicks on, a low, buzzing thrum throughout the apartment, warding off the bitter chill seeping in from his boarded-up window. Sam and Toby have, according to Donna, volunteered to drop by later to do a better patch job. CJ, meanwhile, volunteering booze and peanut gallery comments.

He was too tired to wave off their attempts at comfort a few hours ago and he knows he’ll be absolutely unable to stop their madness later. Now, though, he cards fingers through Donna’s silken hair, grateful for her warm, unassuming presence.

Josh dozes, enough that his frayed emotions have soothed with sleep and the first hints of dawn are poking through his open curtains. Donna’s still dead to the world, breathing slow and even. She’s shifted, moving from her back to her side, one arm curled around his thigh, her head facing his stomach. Josh’s leg is definitely numb and there’s a crick in his neck from the too-low back of his couch, but, god, would he stay here forever if it meant he’d get to spend every night next to her.

He shakes his head, his brain waking up in fits and starts. His hand is still throbbing, a steady metronome set to the beat of his heart, all of them stark reminders that _no, the bullet to your chest did not in fact kill you_. He stretches an arm out, bones cracking in the quiet apartment, when Donna suddenly whines in her sleep, nose scrunching up.

Leo might have kicked them both out of the West Wing, but apparently internal alarm clocks didn’t understand the concept of a _day off_.

She blinks awake, blue eyes hazy in the early morning. She yawns, wide, shifting her body, Josh all too aware of how close they are, how intimate this dance feels this morning in particular.

“What time is it?” she asks, voice low and still raspy with sleep.

“A little after five,” he answers, a thumb rubbing her shoulder absentmindedly. Donna pulls the fallen blanket up her body and curls her legs towards her chest but doesn’t move away from him.

“Ugh,” she replies. “Too early.”

Josh huffs out a laugh. “Too early for a Christmas morning adventure?”

One eye slowly opens, easily finding his face, “Does it involve coffee?”

“And bagels,” he tells her, conspiratorially.

The eye slides shut, Donna humming with faked indecision. “Alright, fine,” she says. “I’m sold. But I’m wearing your Harvard sweatshirt today. You know the one.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Miss Moss,” he sighs, acting put upon as he shifts underneath her. Donna pulls her body up a minuscule amount, setting him free before collapsing back on the couch in a huff.

“It’s Christmas,” she whines, “Aren’t we supposed to sleep in?”

“Those are _your_ traditions,” he teases, tweaking a socked foot that’s been left uncovered by the blanket. “You’ve got fifteen more minutes.”

She waves a hand in the air, rolling over so that her face is now squished against the couch cushions.

Josh grins and takes it for agreement, heading for his room to lay out his old college sweatshirt and a pair of jeans he knows she left behind while helping him recover just a few months ago.

.&.

“Your idea of a Christmas adventure is a trip to the White House,” asks Donna, incredulously, loud in the crisp winter air. Steam rises from both their cups of coffee; bagels having been consumed in Josh’s car.

He waves to one of the guards on duty, face familiar, even as the name escapes him, and guides Donna through the gates that separate the Ellipse from the South Lawn.

“Not the White House,” he tells her, “The tree!”

It’s still lit up, will remain lit up all day even when the sun’s high in the sky if Josh is to believe Toby’s Christmas memo. The crowds of people normally surrounding the National Christmas Tree are gone. Josh can see some early morning joggers in the distance, looping around the Washington Monument, and on the sidewalk a couple walks by with their dog, but, otherwise, DC resembles that old hymn: _all is calm, all is bright_.

He’d had the ornament picked out by Thanksgiving, had seen it hanging in the window of a store on his walk home one day. Out of most anything he could’ve picked for this year he figures this was the least depressing. It’s a square ornament, some kind of shiny metal, with GW’s logo and mascot painted on it. If anyone were to spot it on the tree, he’s sure they’d just chalk it up to a harmless undergrad prank.

Donna walks alongside him, hands wrapped around her coffee cup, blue eyes bright and clear of the worry he’d seen last night.

“From a purely prosecutorial standpoint,” she says, breath fogging the chilled air, and Josh falters a beat, eyeing her warily. “This would be considered federal lawbreaking, right? Like, we’d be tried in federal court.”

“Say it a little louder, why don’t ya,” he gripes, sipping his own drink. “I don’t think the guys on the roof with their scopes and mics could catch that.”

She snorts, swaying her body to brush against his with every step they take. “I’m just saying, we were much stealthier last year. Like, lost in a big crowd at night kind of stealthy.”

“There’s no one around today,” he says, eyes darting around just to make sure.

Donna seems to agree, but follows up his statement with, “And do you know that for _sure_ , Josh?”

“We work for the president, it’s fine.”

They’ve reached the tree by now, a low fence separating the thirty-foot spruce from the public crowds. Donna hangs onto Josh’s arm, a comfortable silence settling over them.

“It’s okay if you don’t have one,” she says, leaning her head against his shoulder. “It hasn’t really been a normal year.”

“And break our tradition?” he says, teasing softly. He hands her his coffee, breaking their embrace and grabs the ornament from his back pocket, letting it swing in the open air. Donna’s set their cups on the ground and she reaches out, curiosity clear across her face.

“Go Colonials?”

“For, you know,” Josh clears his throat and Donna smiles, wan, the pain from the shooting rising to the surface again. “Thought it was better than a hospital or something,” he says, scuffing his sneakers against the grass.

She nods, taking his hand and squeezing it briefly before grabbing the ornament from him and hopping the fence.

“So, where should we put it,” she asks, quickly walking backwards, and Josh follows, chasing after her.

“You pick,” he says.

Donna nods, tapping her chin before ducking towards the south side of the tree, opposite to the Mall. “Less chance of Louis seeing us from here.”

Josh laughs, unbidden and joyful, as Donna creeps around the base of the Christmas tree, a poor imitation of a spy or secret agent, before stopping abruptly.

“Here,” she says.

“Here?”

“Here.”

“Okay,” he agrees, easily, crowding behind her and stretching his arm out, hand over hers, both of them burrowing the ornament amongst the thousands of little lights decorating the branches.

They step back, admiring their hiding job, sharing the private warmth of knowing that no one besides them are aware of the ornament’s existence.

“Okay, let’s go,” says Donna, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from the tree, back to sanctioned ground. Josh looks around again but knows they’re as alone as they’ve been all morning, no one caring what two White House staffers are up to on their rare day off. 

They walk slowly back to the White House, flashing their hard passes at the gate and then meandering up the long driveway surrounding the South Lawn.

“Don’t even try it,” Donna warns, prescient even on a holiday.

“Try what?” Josh replies, just the wrong side of casual.

“Tommy already promised Leo he’d lock out your access until the 27th,” she says, gathering their empty cups to throw away in one of the small, camouflaged trash bins along the path.

“It’s like you don’t trust me,” he whines, “I’m not a child.”

Donna rolls her eyes and threads an arm through the crook of his elbow, “Except you really, truly are,” she teases and Josh sighs, beaten.

“You know,” a voice calls out from above, startling the both of them. “I don’t pick favorites out of my staffers based on who decides to work on Christmas day.”

Josh glances up to find President Bartlet leaning against the railing of the Truman Balcony, a knowing grin on his face and dressed down in jeans and a Notre Dame sweatshirt.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” chimes Donna. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Donna,” he returns, “What’s my deputy got you doing now?”

“We just went out to do some sightseeing, sir,” she says, patting Josh’s arm.

“I see,” he says, tapping his fingers, “Well, since the two of you are down there anyways, you might as well join Abbey and I for breakfast.”

They’re quick with rebuttals, insisting that it’s a holiday and the President and First Lady surely want to spend it with their daughters, but President Bartlet waves them off as the door to the residence opens up in front of them.

“Liz is up with her in-laws and Ellie and Zoey’ll sleep ‘til noon if we let them. I know the two of you don’t have any family around here and _someone_ might as well enjoy the chef’s impressive spread since my wife’s got me on some kind of healthy diet. Not to mention,” and here the President peers over the tops of his glasses, “Abbey’ll be terribly disappointed to know you dropped by and she was denied the opportunity to look at that hand of yours, Josh.”

Josh holds up his bandaged hand, “Leo had Donna take me to the ER last night, sir.”

President Bartlet hums, “Well, be that as it may, you know Abbey won’t be satisfied until she does her own poking around.”

Josh shakes his head, sharing a small grin with Donna, knowing it was an impossible request to turn down. “Alright, Mr. President,” he calls up. “We’ll be there soon.”

President Bartlet nods, turning on his heel to head back inside. Donna leans into his side, a helpless laugh escaping her. “So, Donna, why didn’t you come home for Christmas this year?” she says, a mocking mimicry of someone Josh doesn’t recognize. “Oh, sorry Nan, I was too busy having Christmas breakfast with the President of the United States.”

She dissolves further into giggles, while Josh just guides them into the residence, nodding hellos to the staff and guards still on duty. “Told you I had an adventure planned,” he says, smug in appearance.

She pauses, gaze meeting his for a brief moment, before leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Yes, you did. Merry Christmas, Josh,” Donna says, voice soft, barely audible over the bustle of the building.

He pulls her right to him, arm moving up from her waist to her shoulders. “Merry Christmas, Donna,” he whispers, savoring the feel of her for one more moment before dropping his arms and leading her upstairs to the formal dining room.


	3. three. out of office, 2018.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn’t really matter which Party’s in office. Just because they don’t have passes to the main stage anymore doesn’t mean they can’t get them for the VIP seating part of the audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas eve eve from me and this silly little fic

_Out of Office. 2018._

It doesn’t really matter which Party’s in office. Just because they don’t have passes to the main stage anymore doesn’t mean they can’t get them for the VIP seating part of the audience.

A week from his ninth birthday, Leo’s no longer the little baby Donna would tote around the White House’s hallways, but he’s still young enough that watching the National Christmas Tree lighting is fun, not lame. He sits next to Josh who has Bianca on his lap and points out the different trees surrounding the stage, telling her which state decorated each tree. The toddler giggles and claps her hands together, endeared by the lights and sounds and people, asking her big brother a hundred different questions in her high, childish lisp.

Caroline, a clone of Donna at seven years old with straight blonde hair and wide blue eyes except for a boisterous and commanding personality completely inherited from her father, sits beside her, singing along to the carolers on stage.

Josh catches her eye towards the end, after the President has flipped the switch and lit the tree but before the crowds have begun to disperse. He nods towards the stage, raising a brow and giving her a disarming grin.

Two decades later and their weird quirk of communicating in stares and glares has transformed into an entire language of silent gestures.

She shakes her head, gaze flitting around the groups of people. He shrugs, adjusting a squirming Bianca and tilts his head towards the street instead. She nods, once, decisive, knowing a few overtired kids is better than attempting their annual tradition with witnesses abound.

They eat at Old Ebbitt after the ceremony because it’s close and familiar and Leo likes the fries from there.

Family dinner is interrupted by drop-ins from at least a dozen party leaders, all blatantly lamenting four more years of a Republican administration and quietly wondering why the Dems' own wunderkind and handpicked successor to the likes of Leo McGarry and Josiah Bartlet walked away from the game at the height of his career to play house in the Virginia suburbs.

Josh smiles at them, polite. Bianca, audibly less so, too young to understand why she can’t keep playing tic tac toe with daddy.

They bide their time over well-done burgers and chicken fingers and a salad for mom and extra fries to share, of course. She meets Josh’s warm stare from across the booth as he cuts up Bianca’s food into toddler-appropriate pieces, nudging his ankle with the toe of her boot. He smiles at her, charmed, and grabs her hand off the table to press a kiss to the back of it, garnering loud _ewws_ from the kids.

Caroline chatters away at her baby sister, weaving the same story that Josh has been sharing every night of the week about a magical tree that protects the secret love of a princess and her knight.

Leo, ever the practical one, tries to correct his sister at every turn, insisting that her magic tree is fake and the _real one_ is what they saw earlier.

The two continue to bicker over a shared fudgy brownie sundae, while Bianca nibbles away the chocolate on Josh’s spoon, brown eyes blinking slowly with sleep, up long past her bedtime.

Donna signs the check, stands and waves at Andy Wyatt tucked away in the corner of the dining room with a few other Members of Congress, and marshals her wayward family towards the exit.

She double checks hats and mittens, Josh down on his bad knee to zip up, first, Caroline’s sparkly pink jacket and then Bianca’s bright yellow one. Leo insists on doing up his own coat and Josh solemnly lets him, watching carefully to make sure that fingers remain safe from pinching zippers.

They walk the familiar path down 15th Street, cutting across the lawn of the Ellipse, still covered for the moment in white, fluffy snow. Donna keeps a drowsy Bianca in her arms, while Josh holds Caroline’s hand and Leo walks a couple paces ahead, kicking up clouds of white powder. The crowds are gone from the event space, but the stage and chairs remain, just like always. The tree gleams bright against the night sky and they all stop a few yards away to stare up at it.

“I guess they did alright for being Republicans,” says Josh and Donna scoffs next to him.

“You know it’s designed by GE, right?”

“Yeah, but someone over there had to sign off on it. In fact,” Josh pauses, tapping a finger dramatically against his chin, “I’m pretty sure there was a form or two that held both our signatures signing off on this circus around y’know actual governing.”

Leo and Caroline giggle below, oblivious to the subject matter but well aware of when their father is absolutely hamming it up.

Donna nudges the two children forward, “Come on, you silly geese, I promised Nonna and Gran pictures of you in front of the tree.”

This year’s ornament isn’t a surprise, but rather a homemade crafting explosion of glitter and paint, each kid getting the chance to decorate one side of the small, wooden box that’s currently nestled in Donna’s purse.

Like father, like son, Leo has covered his side in the orange and blue of the New York Mets and stickers of his favorite players. Caroline has used every sparkly sequin she could track down in her craft box and Bianca has made big, broad strokes of color with her baby paint set.

They snap a few pictures, the camera’s flash blinking in the night; ones with just the kids, ones with them and either Josh or Donna, and one horrible selfie that makes them all giggle.

Eventually, Donna sets her bag on the ground and pulls out the tupperware holding the ornament. She hands it off to Josh who gravely warns Leo and Caroline to _stay behind the low fence with mom_ before hopping over and heading off towards the tree.

“Where should it go?” he shouts across the lawn and Leo and Caroline yell back different directions that leave him spinning in circles before the two finally agree on a spot halfway up, facing the Lincoln Memorial and hidden behind twinkling red and silver lights.

“Are we sure?” he asks, arm reaching towards the sky and there’s a shout— _YES!_ —before he hangs it from the branch with a sense of finality, jogging back towards them before the ruckus draws the attention of any stragglers out and about.

“Huh, still got it,” he whispers against the shell of her ear, tucking the tip of his cold nose against the side of her head and easing Bianca from her arms.

Donna rolls her eyes and presses a kiss to his mouth, “Yes,” she agrees, dryly, “In the last two decades you’ve managed to evade arrest by Park Police for trespassing at the site of the National Christmas Tree. You’re a regular bandit, Clyde.”

He bumps a shoulder against hers, eyes tracking Caroline and Leo as they throw snowballs at each other. “Not just me, Bonnie,” he says, clearly amused, “Don’t forget, you’re a willing accomplice.”

She opens her mouth, poised to banter back, when there’s a shout and a cry, Caroline on the ground and gripping her head while Leo holds his hands out, apology written clear across his face.

Josh places a finger across her lips. “Save it for later, Moss,” he says, words full of promise, before trudging through the snow, voice loud and overdramatic as he asks Caroline if she thinks he’ll need to call Grandma Abbey to replace her whole head.

The replying laughter is wet with tears, but Donna calms as she realizes there’s no need for an actual trip to the emergency room, that kisses from daddy and mommy will soothe the worst of the hurt. She takes one last look at the tree, twinkling against the backdrop of the Mall and the Capitol Building beyond, steadfast in its presence over the years even as her and Josh continue to change and evolve. She thinks, for just a moment, that she can see the spots where her and Josh have hidden ornaments every Christmas, staking claim upon this little slice of DC as their very own before shaking her head to dislodge the memories and spinning on her heel, intent to rejoin her family.


	4. four. bartlet administration, 2006.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You remembered,” she says, voice soft. 
> 
> “Of course, I did,” he says.
> 
> “I just—I thought, you know, after last year,” she says, haltingly, hating the way her voice wavers with uncertainty. There are so many new things about them this year, but this feels old, as if pulled from another point in time and brought forward to the future.

_Bartlet Administration. 2006._

They don’t even make it out of the West Wing. The intent is there, found in gathered coats and hats and mittens and thermoses full of rum-soaked eggnog. But the First Family has gone full pomp and circumstance in their final year with the President and First Lady and all three girls and husbands and grandchildren. It’s the kind of affair that makes the senior staff hide in back rooms, just out of view of the clamoring press and public.

It’s a last hurrah of a sort. All of them piled into CJ’s—once Leo’s, soon-to-be Josh’s—office: her and Josh, Sam, Annabeth all welcomed back to the fold; Carol, Margaret, Bonnie, and Ginger tipsy over the final weeks of their jobs; Ed and Larry are friendly, familiar faces; Charlie, Will, and Kate clearly sentimental over the end of an era; and, finally, Danny, a friend instead of the press.

There are people missing of course: Leo and Toby’s absences are raw on the heart in different ways. The original team from that first campaign never again destined to be together under the White House’s roof.

Donna sips at her drink, a shared thing between her and Josh in a chipped coffee mug stamped with the presidential seal.

No one’s dared claim Leo’s armchair, it sits empty, a sentinel for their lost leader. Everyone’s scattered about: a card game at the small table by the television, piled onto the couch or chairs that usually sit in front of CJ’s desk. She, Josh and Sam are all sitting on the floor, a tableau more familiar from long nights on the campaign trail than long days in the West Wing. CJ eventually joins them, folding long limbs underneath her body and groaning as she stretches her arms.

“This used to be easier, right?” she says, mocking.

“We used to be younger,” corrects Sam, offering up chips out a bag from the vending machines.

“Speak for yourself,” scoffs Josh. He shifts slightly, jostling Donna who sits between his outstretched legs, head leaning against his collarbone.

“ _You_ definitely used to be younger,” teases Sam, tossing an unopened bag of Oreos their way. Josh snatches them out of the air, passing the bag to her with a nip to the soft skin behind her ear.

She watches CJ and Sam exchange silent glances over the clear PDA.

“Still weird to you?” CJ asks.

“Oh, completely, one hundred percent,” replies Sam and Donna feels more than hears Josh’s huff of exasperation, knows he’s rolling his eyes at their friends even as she runs a soothing hand up and down his thigh.

“See if we invite you to the wedding with that attitude,” Josh says, annoyance clear in his voice, before they’re all interrupted by Margaret’s audible gasp from the card game.

“You’re getting _married_?”

Donna hits Josh’s arm, “You can’t joke about things like that around people who aren’t me.”

He whines in her ear, “Donna, I was just—”

“Nope,” she says, interrupting, “We are literally the only two people who will find it funny.”

“That’s true,” interjects Danny, leaning back against the door to Margaret’s office and swirling a cup of whiskey salvaged from someone’s private stash. “Same thing with eloping. You guys can’t make those jokes without someone potentially committing your murders.”

Donna rolls her eyes at the teasing, knows there will never be a shortage of _how long?_ jokes as long as she and Josh are together even if they’re both planning for forever.

Instead, she stuffs a cookie in her mouth and hopes for a subject change as she leans across Josh to address Charlie, “As Zoey’s boyfriend how did _you_ escape the official stage duties.”

Charlie scowls at her, well aware of the misdirection but loyally takes the bait, “I’m her boyfriend, not her fiancé and _definitely_ not her husband.”

Josh picks up the thread, clearly eager to move to other topics, “Yeah, but not for long though, right? Zoey’s not gonna wait forever.”

“I don’t think you have any leg to stand on when it took you nine years to ask Donna out on a date,” Charlie tosses back.

“I didn’t just ask her on date,” Josh exclaims, “I asked her to go to Hawaii.”

Donna giggles, knowing the conversation could truly go in circles, but it’s enough of a distraction to disrupt the brewing competition.

“Come on, the speeches and stuff are probably all over,” she says instead, getting to her feet and offering Josh a hand. “But we can at least stand on the edge of the crowd and see the lights.”

Josh clambers up, placing their mug of eggnog on CJ’s desk without a coaster much to her noise of indignation.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, wrapping her scarf around her neck and pressing a brief kiss to her lips just because, she’s sure, it’s simply a thing he can do now.

“It’s freezing out there,” warns Will, burrowed deep into the couch and clearly thinking no Christmas tree was worth DC’s sudden drop in temperatures.

“No worse than New Hampshire in January,” she says with a shrug, passing Josh his gloves that have somehow ended up in her pocket.

“You two crazy kids have fun, now,” says Danny, raising his glass to them, innuendo clear in his voice, but CJ loudly lets him and the others in the room on the secret that only senior staff had once suspected.

“They’ve just got a weird tree lighting thing,” she says, a fond smile on her face. “They always have. It’s not like they’re sneaking off to do it in the DCOS office.”

“CJ!” shouts Josh, the tips of his ears red, as Charlie and Sam laugh uproariously in the background.

“Are you sure? Because weird tree lighting thing honestly sounds a little dirty,” replies Danny, a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

Donna feels Josh grip her hand and pull her forward, shifting their bodies so that he can place a hand at the small of her back, “We’re leaving now, we don’t have to listen to this uncalled for attack.”

The laughter of their friends follows them out of the room and down the emptied hallways. Staffers and interns still sit at their desks, phones still ring from cradles and computers chime with incoming emails, but the bustling corridors that Donna is so used to seem like a thing of the past as the Bartlet Administration slowly transitions out.

Josh pulls her to the side in the lobby, practically underneath the presidential seal, and bounces briefly on his toes in front of her.

“You wanna go find that closet you pulled me into that one time,” he asks, smirk clear on his face, a dimple peeking out.

She smacks him on the arm, cackling with laughter even as a frisson of heat snakes down her spine, “You’re incorrigible.”

He laughs back, sliding one arm around her waist and bringing the other up to her neck to draw her in for a lingering kiss.

“I’m kidding,” he says, “Anyways, we gotta put the ornament up while we still can.”

“You remembered,” she says, voice soft.

“Of course, I did,” he says.

“I just—I thought, you know, after last year,” she says, haltingly, hating the way her voice wavers with uncertainty. There are so many new things about them this year, but this feels old, as if pulled from another point in time and brought forward to the future.

Josh grins at her, dimples carved deep in his cheeks, boyishly gleeful in all the best ways. “C’mon,” he says, gentle with her, warm and loving. “We were in there way longer than you thought. Most everyone’s cleared out, but Park Services won’t begin to dismantle the set up ‘til tomorrow. It’s now or never.”

“What’re we even gonna put up there? A pilfered candy cane from Margaret’s desk?”

“Oh ye of little faith, Donnatella,” he says, teasingly, offering up a gloved hand. She takes it, instinctively, fingers easily tangling with his. He sways their joined hands between them, walking the quiet halls of the West Wing, and Donna’s got whiplash from how different things are even as so much feels so very familiar.

He digs around in his coat pocket as they reach the end of a hallway and exit out a side door to the South Lawn. They pause by a light so Josh can show her this year’s ornament.

It’s wood, carved and painted to resemble a spray of tropical flowers with Maui drawn in script across it.

“When did you get this?” she asks, touching its surface reverently.

“Oh, one of those mornings where you refused to wake up,” he tells her, “Did you know your snore in your sleep? Always woke me up at the crack of dawn.”

“I do not,” Donna says, affronted, and Josh shakes his head, acknowledging the lie as they resume their path to the tree.

“It’s beautiful,” she says.

“I got one for, you know, our actual tree, at home,” he ducks his head, bashful, “But I thought it deserved to go on this one, too.”

“I think so, too,” she tells him, drawing to a stop and rising on her tip toes to press a kiss to his mouth, “Sums up our year pretty well.”

He smiles at her, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, “Might’ve gotten a guy to the White House, but you and me? That’s _exactly_ how I wanna remember this year.”

Donna beams, warm in Josh’s arms, “I love you,” she tells him, breathless from happiness.

“I love you,” he responds, pulling her even closer, his lips brushing hers. She closes the gap between them, kisses lazy and drugging, thinks that maybe CJ is right about the old DCOS office, briefly considers the closet Josh had just suggested. The tree will be there all month, after all, and Donna has far, far more important things to do tonight.


	5. five. bartlet administration, 1999.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Last weekend was the annual Moss Christmas tree decorating extravaganza,” she tells him, that same small smile back on her face, fingertips lingering on the glossy prints. “Mom and dad always get our tree the first weekend of December and spend the day putting on the lights and ornaments and decorating the outside of the house. My brothers and I used to complain so much during high school, but…,” she trails off and shakes her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [pretend this was posted yesterday, on the actual christmas day 😆]

_Bartlet Administration 1999._

Thursday morning, he finds Donna already at her desk, thumbing through a stack of photos, a sad smile on her face. He walks past the glass walls encasing her cubicle, tosses his coat and backpack onto one of the visitor chairs in front of his desk and strolls back to her space, reaching his arms up above him to swing idly against her doorframe.

“Whatcha got there?” he asks, curiosity overcoming any of his earlier thoughts on this morning’s senior staff or whatever mess Congress is in to on upcoming legislation.

Donna startles, fingers briefly clutching the pictures before spinning in her chair to face him. “Nothing,” she tells him, voice airy and unaffected, “Just some pictures my mom sent me.”

He drops his arms, walking further into her cubicle and leaning against the low filing cabinets next to her chair. He cocks his head, trying to get a better glance at the photos she’s crowding against her chest.

She swats his arm, reaching across his body to grab a stack of phone messages and rattles off his schedule for the day. “Senior staff in five,” she tells him, placing the stack of pictures face down on her desk and straightening his collar and tie. “Richardson called to reschedule to 3pm, Leo wants to talk about the thing with Appropriations, and the D-Triple-C is already asking about the Ohio 4th and the Texas 12th.”

Josh nods, gaze still caught on the pile of photographs, wonders why something her mom had sent would make Donna so forlorn so early in the morning.

She snaps her fingers in his face. “Josh,” she says, exasperated.

“Yeah, yeah, Senior Staff, Approps, Richardson, Ohio and Texas,” he rattles off, “I got it.”

Donna peers at him, eyes narrowed, “I really don’t think you do, but whatever, it’s your job.”

He frowns even as he walks backward to his office, “Nah, I’m pretty sure that’s what I pay you for.”

She scoffs and makes a shooing motion with her hands, “Leo’s office, five minutes. _Go_!”

He lingers in his doorway just a moment more, watches her face fall as her body turns back to the desk, delicately running a finger across the back of the pictures she had been looking at.

“Five minutes, Josh!” she shouts, and he swears, grabbing his folio and an extra pen from his desktop before heading for the Comms bullpen to bother Sam and Toby before their meeting.

.&.

It’s nearing lunchtime when he finally gets back from Leo’s office to find her in almost the same position as this morning: blonde hair hiding her face, shoulders hunched, and her head tilted down as she flips through the photos from her mom. The melancholy air surrounding her hasn’t faded as the day has gone on and Josh aches with a way to fix it, to make Donna flash him one of those wide, gleeful grins and tease him mercilessly on some social faux pas he’s made.

He’s almost to the door to his office when he veers left, passing under the doorway of her cubicle to lean against her desk and peer at the photos in her hands.

The one on top is of a small boy with chubby cheeks and wispy blonde hair. He’s standing in front of a half-lit Christmas tree, holding up a handcrafted ornament.

“Cute kid,” he says, and Donna jumps, turning her chair only to bump her knees into his legs.

“What the hell, Josh,” she exclaims, slapping the photos onto her desk.

“Just said he was a cute kid,” he replies, arms raised defensively.

She sighs, the fight easily leaving her and holds the picture up again. “Yeah, this is Tommy, my cousin's kid. He just turned four in October.”

“These the pictures your mom sent you?” Josh asks, even though they both know they are.

Donna nods, sliding the pictures out on her desk so he gets flashes of her parents, her brothers, a few more kids and others that are vaguely familiar from pictures he’s seen hung around in her apartment. They’re all crowded into one room with a simple brick fireplace and an enormous Douglas Fir tree.

“Last weekend was the annual Moss Christmas tree decorating extravaganza,” she tells him, that same small smile back on her face, fingertips lingering on the glossy prints. “Mom and dad always get our tree the first weekend of December and spend the day putting on the lights and ornaments and decorating the outside of the house. My brothers and I used to complain _so much_ during high school, but…,” she trails off and shakes her head.

“You miss it,” he says for her, understanding the feeling of lost family traditions as he and his mom seemingly grow more informal with the holidays.

“Yeah, silly, huh?”

“Nah, I’d bitch and moan all the time about Thanksgiving and Hanukkah and the Fourth when I was at school, but once I moved down here, and especially once my dad got sick, I definitely missed all my mom’s fuss.” He knocks a fist against the desk, careful not to touch the pictures, “You could’ve gone home, y’know.”

Donna snorts, not mean, exactly, but still with a hint of disbelief. “There was that meeting with Democratic Leadership and Congress still hadn’t passed another CR for the budget, not to mention that benefit gala the President was speaking at,” she waves a hand. “I’m going home for Christmas,” she says, “It’d be kind of silly to pay for a second flight home just to decorate the tree. I have nieces and nephews for that.”

“It’s a tradition, though,” says Josh, shrugging a shoulder and looking over the spray of pictures. It’s clear to him the only person missing from the chaos is Donna and he feels a pang of guilt even as he knows she chooses to do this job, _her_ job.

“Maybe another year,” she says, breezy attitude back on. “Come on, you need to eat something and I pulled that briefer you wanted on those agricultural subsidiaries that Penning was leveraging.” She hops out of her chair, walking to one of the out trays, pulling binders and memos as she goes, “Plus, Richardson at 3. Ed and Larry wanted to meet one last time about a counteroffer before you went in.” 

Josh groans, taking the papers and letting her push him towards the doors to the lobby and, ultimately, the Mess. But he spares a final glance at her desk and the pictures left scattered about, a half-formed idea turning over in his head.

.&.

Richardson’s an overblown Democrat who hasn’t faced tough competition in nearly eighteen years. He’s got friends, he’s got enemies, and, unfortunately, he’s got the six votes Josh needs to pass the latest foreign aid bill President Bartlet’s been pushing for.

The meeting runs over by almost two hours, leaving him practically hoarse from shouting. He’s barely got enough time to swing by the gift shop across Lafayette Park and confirm her name with Charlie before the event’s practically underway.

Donna’s adorably confused as Josh gathers her coat and gloves and scarf, standing in the middle of the hallway between her cubicle and his office.

“And why do _I_ need to be standing outside, at night, when it’s thirty degrees?”

“Because you’re my assistant,” he says, bundling her up and pulling her through the halls of the West Wing to find everyone else gathered in the Outer Office, waiting to start the route to the temporary stage on the Ellipse.

“I really don’t think I need to be here,” she whispers, hurriedly, the two of them at the back of the small crowd, President Bartlet lecturing Charlie and CJ and, by extension everyone else, on the history of the National Tree Lighting Ceremony.

“Aw, c’mon, it’s our first one,” says Josh, jostling her, “Don’t you wanna be a part of it?”

“Of course,” she answers, “But not if it means bumping someone more important.”

“You’re the _most_ important,” he says, smiling at her. She rolls her eyes in response, lips pursing in the way that Josh knows is just her trying to avoid grinning wide. “Anyways, I need your help with something up there,” he pulls out the small glass ornament he’d carefully stashed in his pocket and lets it swing between the two of them.

Donna frowns, stilling the movement with one gloved hand. “National Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony 1999,” she reads aloud. “What’s this?”

“I think it’s what your people call an ornament. You put it on some kind of plant that holds special, religious meaning I believe.”

“ _Josh_!”

He ducks his head, scuffs his toe in the grass and follows her up the stairs to the makeshift stage, hiding them behind CJ and Toby and Charlie. “I just thought, you know,” he pauses, huffs out a breath that goes white in the winter air. Donna stands still beside him, he can feel her gaze on him, and shrugs, trying to downplay why he thought this was _important_ , “I just thought we could put an ornament up on _this_ tree, since you missed out last weekend.”

“This tree?” she asks, disbelief clear in her voice. “ _This tree_ , right here? The national Christmas tree?”

“Yeah, why not? It’s a good one isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it illegal?” she exclaims, slightly hysterical.

“Eh, only if we get caught.”

Donna coughs beside him, choking down a laugh and CJ whips her head around to glare at them, but Josh quickly waves her off.

“Come on,” he tells her, “we’ll do it right before the President and Zoey flip the switch. They make it pitch black for a reason, and after that it’s all over and everyone leaves. It’s the perfect set up. No one will know, except us, of course.”

He shuffles to the side, moving the both of them closer towards the side of the tree not facing the audience. He can practically feel Donna’s resolve melting as she burrows further into his side and they slip into the shadows, away from the cameras and people and attention.

“Where should we put it?” she asks.

Josh shrugs, “I got the ornament, you pick the spot.”

She stares at him, just for a moment, before turning to face the tree fully, a gloved hand coming up to tap at her chin just as she tilts her head to the left. She takes a few cautious steps forward, then grows bolder, closer, fingers glancing against the branches. President Bartlet is just starting to wrap up his speech when Donna stops.

“Right here,” she says.

“Right here?”

“Yup.”

“Okay,” he replies, stepping up behind her and dangling the ornament in front of her face. “How should we do this?”

“Together,” she tells him, gripping his hand and guiding his arm to the branch she’s selected. She slides away as Josh loops the ribbon around the branch and pushes the ornament behind the string of lights about to be lit, hiding it from immediate view. He steps backwards, bumping into her and she immediately wraps an arm around his waist, rising to her tip toes to rest her chin on his shoulder. They stay like that, hidden, quiet, staring at their ornament when suddenly the lights flicker on, flooding their spot with flickering brightness.

“Hey, there you are,” interrupts Sam, standing a few feet away. “What’re you doing over here, anyways? Toby, CJ, and I were gonna go to the Hawk and Dove, you guys in?”

Josh looks over at Donna, the gold and white lights from the tree make her blue eyes gleam brighter in the dim light. He crooks an eyebrow and tilts his head over to Sam in a silent question. It’d be easy enough to give them the slip, after all, and go back to the office and order Chinese food and bicker over what makes a good Christmas movie. Donna bites her lip in hesitation, Josh watching as her lip gloss smears from the action, and shrugs, a small, bright smile on her face, the sadness from earlier gone.

“I could go for a drink,” she tells him, too quiet to be heard by anyone else in the crowd.

He offers her his arm, grinning as she slips hers through the crook of his elbow and leads her away from the tree and the small glass ornament hidden in its depths.

“Yeah, Sam,” he calls out, “We’ll be right there.”


End file.
